Since the invention of written language, people have written stories. Since before even then, people have told them. From the times immemorial to the time of today, there have been people who make the stories, and those who tell them. Anyone can do either, but there are two kinds of these people with special abilities: Truepens, and their counterparts, Silvertongues. Truepens are authors and storywriters who weave such vibrant, elaborate tales, they seem real. Silvertoungues are people with magnificent voices, and the skill to tell stories so well they become real. Any book, any story, any legend told by a Silvertongue comes to life, not just in the imagination, but I the world around them. Why do people see bigfoot? A Silvertounge spoke of it. Same thing with mythical beings like the Loch Ness monster and Unicorns. The same with the villains and monsters in darker tales as well. Murderers, assassins, people who want to take over or even destroy the world, all exist because a Silvertongue spoke of them. When the tale of a Truepen and the voice of a Silvertounge come together, it can create a tale so real, so magnificent, the events unfold in the story exactly as they would in the book. This is how many tales came true, it brought the rise and fall of many a civilization. The world's greatest weapons lay right under our noses- and may not even realize it themselves.

You can be a Truepen, Silvertongue, or story character, or have one of each. No limit on the number of characters you can have, just as long as you can keep track of them all. Usual rules apply, etc., etc.

(Cool! I'm gonna have 2. A Silvertongue and a story character come to life by the silvertongue =D)

Violet woke up, smiling. Another day of storytelling, only this time, she had a new story, about a new boy, Acer. She reviewed the story in her head as she got dressed, pulling on her stark white jacket over her baby blue shirt and her blue skinny-fit jeans. Her black boots covered her ankles. She glanced in the mirror, pulling her black bangs back into a small braid, leaving the rest of her hair down. She started down the stairs, ready for the new day.

Ob'Bohl(pronounced ob bowl..) was born at a time when man was still being weaved from the lips of his ancestors. In a place that existed for those who written stories and those who spoke to make it come to life. As a youth he was absent minded and would be out to play but his family knew he was a rare breed, he was a Truepen and would be brought up to be a very powerful one indeed. When he was in his teens he would want to be part of the world his ancestors created so bad that he would write about creatures that may inhabit the world of the humans.
One night he was dreaming about the world he wanted to be in when it seemed to be more real than real. It may have been a sweet dream but when he awoke it was something more of a nightmare. He awoke on the streets of modern day city filled with the humans he once dreamt about. Ob'Bohl was frightened about the whole thing and ran towards a dark alley and fell face first on a puddle. When he rose he caught himself in the puddles reflection to see a light faced young male. with light blue eyes and short light hair. He was shocked to see this face.
"SHANE! Get up now!" shouted a roommate towards the sleepy Ob'Bohl. He awoke and rubbed his eyes. staring out his window to see the creeping sun come over the horizon. It was that dream again he thought. What does this all mean?

Walking down the street to the nearest Cafe, she sat down and ordered a glass of water. Several people looked over to her, expecting her to start telling a story, but she sat there quietly for suspense.

Ob"Bohl or Shane, He didn't know which one was more correct and would constantly fight himself about it. The past couple of months now seemed to be a simple chore for him. He was a human and should act like one that meant working and trying to make a simple living. His roommate was an oddball and understood why Shane would be gone for such long hours. The truth was Ob'bohl did not like to sleep. The doctors told him it was anxiety or some sort of sleep disorder but he knew where it was all coming from. His dreams were keeping him from sleep. Strange things would happen and he just tried to stay away from it completely.

Today was his day off and he did not want to stay home and feel sad for himself because of last nights dream so he rose out of bed and got himself ready for the day. After a quick breakfast he decided he would go to the neighborhood shop and order himself some coffee. "It looks like you need it." Shane's roommate blurted out as he left for work.

Maybe he was right, Ob'Bohl thought as he walked down the street to the nearest shop and stepped inside to see that it wasn't so busy that day. He sat in the back booth past a small group of people who were idly watching a young woman who must have came in shortly before he did. He shrugged and sat down at his booth and ordered his strong coffee.

When his order reaches the table Ob'Bohl pays the waitress and takes his first of many sips from his warm mug. Nothing more energetic than a mug full of coffee he thought as he blew a few times to keep it from burning his lips. He held it in his hand while he looked out the window to see a park in the distance. His imagination was beginning to work again and he would have given anything to day dream but knew the consequences if he did. He shook off the feeling and put his attention on a group of boys who spoke loudly at the next booth over. The conversation was about the young woman who was in the middle of her crowd. Ob"Bohl was interested but he had more pressing issues on his mind at the moment. He caught his reflection in the window and began asking questions again. Who are you really?

His attention went back to the attention of the café and he soon heard why they were watching her as one kid blurted out that she in fact had unique abilities. Ob"Bohl snared at the comment. It must be a parlor trick he thought as he pulled out his journal and began writing a new entry for last nights dream.

When she'd finished her water, Violet also finished the last part on her picture and stood up, turning to leave. She tucked the paper safely in her pocket and started out the door, hearing a few audible sighs of disappointment, but she ignored them. Stepping out into the fresh air and bright sun, she started towards the center of the town, several blocks away, but she would enjoy the walk before her big story.

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Christopher , a guy who simply can only remembers his origin, but can't remember anything beyond the last ten minutes. What was he? His short time on this strange place. From just looking in the mirror he could already gather he wasn't like everyone else. Christopher felt like he wasn't the only one who seemed to be 'thought up'. Christopher was determined to find out what the hell he was here for, and who brought him here. Christopher who was now wearing blue skinny jeans, a grey hoody with the hood pulled up, and black converse sneakers. He made his way to the center of town avoiding eye contact with anyone.

He noticed that the young girl who was the center of attention stand up and walk out. On'Bohl went back to his journal and finished his latest entry. He had to keep an account of everyone he sees or does to reinforce that it did in fact happen.

When he finished he paid his tab and rose from his seat and left the small establishment. The scenery was not as colorful as his home but it did have its own majestic vibe. He walked down main street with his journal wedged between his arm. The day was already in the afternoon and he had no idea what he wanted to do next. It was his day off. Would he go to the park? Or to the pier? It didn't matter. He was still bummed out from last nights dream. With no answers already he gave up completely. Screw it he thought, there's no point in trying to figure out the unknown. He made it to the center of town to notice the same young girl from before and a very shy boy on a bench.

Making her way past several people, she pulled her hood up over her head to disguise herself, but some people had already recognized her. She slipped over and sat on the opposite side of the bench from someone else who she didn't really recognize. She was deciding how she would start her story, and how she would make her big finish. She hadn't had all the details planned out yet, and she figured she probably should have done that before she left her house.

In the old manor outside of the city, the voice of a Silvertongue rings through the abandoned halls, heavy and dark with malicious intentions.

"And from the dark throne of the Castle of Baywood emerged a dark figure, laden with armor and the souls of the fallen.

"This figure, which had ruled the land for three centuries, now stood from his place to remind his people of his power. But it was drained. Needing a vessel to give back his power, he had brought a servant, a young Necro-mage, to restore his power to it's former glory. From the shadows of his chair, he whispered into the night, speaking into the mind of the young mage.

"The youthful sorcerer of death knew what he had to do; Speak the name of the dark lord and thus restore his power. And so he spoke the name.

"Imorrdan."

Evil laughter resounded through the crumbling structure, as the character sprang forth from his world of paper and ink. Imorrdan has returned.

Violet stepped into the center of town and immediately people started crowding. She looked down at a young girl who was calling to her.
"VI! What's today's story?" She asked, sitting and beaming.
"A story about a young boy, who is deadly hidden, and danger seen." She said smiling.
The girl clapped and smiled excitedly.

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Students roamed around the busy boarding school, some with a purpose, while some others are just killing time by walking aimlessly and adding to the congestion. That day the normally blue sky was dark and dangerous, each cloud hovering near each other, blocking the bright rays of sunlight. The tiny creatures down below could tell that a heavy rain was about to pour down on the school grounds.

Somehow, this weather made them more anxious than before. As if the weather was an omen of an even bigger, even more malicious scheme rather than just a thunderstorm. The hundreds of clicking of heels and shoes beating down on the clammy earth were like an army of un-orchestrated music. It sounded dark and lonely, yet full of promise. The promise, of getting back to the comfort and safety of their dorms. There were people carrying bags, guitars, snacks and various items in their hand. But one person carrying the most bizarre item went unnoticed. A human. A human slumped in the crook of two strong arms of a dark haired male wearing a suit fit for a teacher. He strolled hastily, wearing a haunted and strained look which made nobody dare to come in contact with him. Everything about him was normal, except for the part there was an unconscious girl in his arms.

After entering the school's large gated doors, the man quickly navigated his way towards the West Wing of the school. Then finally, after a few hallways, he turned into another long corridor. Loud chatter echoed down the hall, the door at the end was propped open as if it were awaiting the man's arrival. Shuffling down the hall he then entered the room where he was greeted by a swarm of nurses who were currently treating a different array of students injured by some unknown cause. "Mr. Weathers! Thank goodness you're here!" a nurse shouted as she approached him with a clipboard, "We have reports of another suspected homicide."

Nathaniel Weathers continued over to a stretched out medical cot and laid the frail girl down gently before turning to take the board from the nurse. Scanning over the scribbled notes he sighed and ran a hand through his hair, he was sweating profusely and yet another student had just passed away. This outbreak of suicides, murders, illnesses, or whatever they were were starting to take a toll on him. Then the two turned to the young girl that was still unconscious on the cot and the nurses became hushed. Neither of them said a word, and the silence hung in the air like dead bodies. Nathaniel stared solemnly to the ground, then he leaned in to whisper close to the girl's ear. "Ms. Lyles, I'm sorry". Then slowly, the nurse turned to him and asked "Mr. Weathers, what should we do?" her voice sounded urgent. Nathaniel stayed quiet. He knew what he had to do, but he still could not find the right words to put it into as his mind raced. When did it come to this? He sighed before speaking. Staring straight into the nurses steady, but worried eyes, he finally answered "Just do what you can for her.. I'll investigate the incidents at once." He paused, allowing a moment to gather his thoughts. "Notify me if there are any developments."

The nurse stared at him, dumbfounded. From behind she could hear an audible curse from one of the male nurses. He has got to be kidding me.. She thought. "Mr. Weathers, you.. you're not serious.. are you?" She asked, swallowing her own saliva as if it had been turned into a boulder. If what she was hearing was true that meant that the tales were also true, the tales of the grounds possibly housing a Silvertongue. But, Nathaniel didn't say anything. His eyes had turned lifeless, like someone had sapped the life and energy out of him. "I am." He replied monotonously. Out from the corner of Nathaniel's eye he saw the male nurse move in and say "Then what are you planning to do?" By the tone of his voice anyone could tell that he was disturbed by this as well. This was new. The thought had come sounding a little odd, and Nathaniel just felt it in his guts that this might just destroy him, his life, and everything that was built around it. Restless, the girl shifted uncomfortably on the cot until she found a perfect spot to rest on. Her face hid in the bend of the pillow, and Nathaniel couldn't help but feel a little jealous at her comfort. How he wished that he could do the same.

"I have to do this." Each syllable was clipped and taut, matching the expression on Nathaniel's tense face. There was no question in that , he was going to find out exactly how to stop these strange events even if it killed him, and he was going to start as soon as possible. "I'll be going now.." he said, looking at the girl's peaceful expression. I'm going to protect them no matter what.

Present Day​

Nathaniel trudged slowly down a sidewalk, one foot placing itself half-heartedly in front of the other before peeling back as another progressed. It had been almost five years since he left the school, but many thoughts had lingered in the subconscious of the man's unforgiving mind.

And with this, just as swiftly as the ominous plague swept the grounds, it vanished.

Those words... they were magical to the man, constantly echoing within him. For years had he yearned to read those words, to alleviate the pain and suffering of the students he loved dearly. What he needed was a Truepen, a master of literary expression, to right his wrongs. Yes, Nathaniel was a Silvertongue and he knew all too well of his abilities, but he never came to terms with them. Reading stories to turn them from fiction into fact? At first, it sounded a little far-fetched to him, however, Nathaniel was determined to find the truth. It was not until he had read the words of an evil man that he finally knew the extent of his powers, the powers that would destroy everything he ever had...

Nathaniel came to a stop when he saw a crowd of people doing what they do best, crowding. At the center was a young woman. Common knowledge led him to believe that she was a Silvertongue as well, only one that did not keep her powers hidden and used them on a daily basis as a way to reap adoration it seemed. Nathaniel had always been somewhat judgmental, but he needed a release, something to pour his sadness and anger into. Besides, he never said anything like that to others, he only had a grasp on the fact that he was entitled to his opinions... if only in his head.

Tearing his gaze away from the crowd, he entered a local cafe where he place his order and sat silently near a windowed corner. Taking a couple of sips from his coffee idly, he realized that he had finally created a daily routine for himself in this town. Wake up, get dressed, eat darn near anything, then go to a cafe... it wasn't very impressive, but still a routine nonetheless. After a few minutes, Nathaniel began to examine his surroundings in search of anything that could catch his attention. His vision spotted the crowd outside, the pictures on the wall in the cafe, then a few customers. None of those were particularly interesting, however, there was a man who struck him as odd in comparison to the lot. He was writing something down, but from his position Nathaniel could not tell what it was.

As he sat and watched the man for a moment, he saw that the crowd had began to make its way towards the center of town. Soon after, the man left as well. It was out of character for Nathaniel to be so interested in this man, but lately his search for a Truepen was running dry. If this man was a possibility it would be his lucky break! In a dime's notice, Nathaniel decided to follow the man. Leaving money to pay the bill, he rushed off after him, being sure to stay at a distance as to not be suspicious.

Just as he thought, the crowd and the man were all headed for the town square.

Branching away, Nathaniel kept an eye on the man as he attempted to get a view of the Silvertongue that was about to tell a tale. He never really liked public speaking Silvertongues, simply because it always appeared as if they were fishing for attention. But, he was in no position to talk, if he had been in any other situation than his own he would have probably done the same. If he could be any other person than himself... maybe he would not have ended up being a defective Silvertongue... one who can only manifest stories that were not written by him.

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Violet started to speak. "A young boy, simple, right? Wearing white, his hood up. He walks along the roofs, unnoticed by anyone. He is the master sneak, and his name is Flame." Her voice had a tone of fear in it to add effect. The little girl's eyes grew wide. "Flame comes upon a young girl. She's pretty, she's cute, and her father is a policeman. He pulls her into the shadows with soft, manipulative words. Only but a minute later, he leaves. Without the girl. He returns to his commander, who was very dearly pleased. He sent Flame on another task. The father. Flame knows the father's schedule, his every move, his every fear, his every weakness. He follows to father until he reaches where his daughter is hidden. Flame smiles, kicking her until her head could only be seen by her father..." She paused, looking around carefully. "But oh, the father knows who is waiting for him. The father will run and run, but Flame is too fast. He pushes past the bystanders and tackles the father into the shadows. He leaves, with only a police badge. He climbs to the roof, running back to his commander. Beware the white Flame. No compassion. No care. Ice cold at heart. Deadly when hidden, but just as dangerous when seen."

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